


An Inevitable Something

by a_windsor



Series: Inevitable [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: Sara tries to live without Nyssa. She's not so good at it.





	

Sara forgets what Nyssa smells like. She forgets what she tastes like. The guilt and the longing linger inside her, and she searches for her in dozens of women across time, tries to smell her in the nape of a 17th century Salemite’s neck, tries to find her taste on the lips of a French queen.

She does not find them.

The physical ache of missing her is palpable, even through the grief of losing Laurel and Leonard. She is haunted by the sick feeling of guilt for leaving her there in that dungeon, abandoning her to fight her own battles just as everyone else has abandoned her.

(Gideon says Nyssa is _fine_. Says she broke free, says she won back the League, says she dissolved the organization by rights hers rather than let it keep anyone else captive. Sara stays up for hours when she learns that, huddled on her bunk and crying, thinking how lonely Nyssa must be, thinking how much she wants to go to her.)

(It’s silly. No one is better at keeping Nyssa physically safe than Nyssa. But who is _taking care_ of her? Who is looking after Nyssa’s heart? Who is telling her she’s not the monster her father tried to make her?)

Gideon had been reticent to tell her anything, but Sara had finally worn her down, possibly through pity, if the AI was capable of it. Gideon drew a hard line at the last time Sara had been in 2016. She would fill her in on the months between Sara’s resurrection and Laurel’s death, but that was it. Conceivably, only months will pass for Nyssa before they see each other again.

For Sara, it’s been over three years, not even counting the year she was dead. Three years without someone who once knew her every thought, every fear, every desire. (Well, _almost_ every.)

When she thinks about it hard enough, Sara isn’t even sure why they aren’t together right now. They were together when Sara died, so happily together. They had finally started to heal from before, from Sara disappearing in the middle of the night, from Sara falling into someone else’s bed. (God, she never has been good enough to Nyssa. How could she love someone so much and still fail her so entirely?)

But when Sara was finally herself again, soul restored, her memory had been spotty, her mind scattered. By the time she _remembered_ who Nyssa was, well…

Sara had entered Nanda Parbat that night fully intent on busting Nyssa out and starting over. Of everyone in her life, Nyssa would have been the least uncomfortable with the blood lust that had still consumed her, and they were a team, a unit, an inevitable _something_.

But when she walked into that cell, Nyssa had looked at her _differently_. With reverence and awe, yes, but also with pity. Never, not once, had Nyssa pitied her. Not when she found her gasping for breath in the North China Sea, not when the League’s training almost broke her, not when Sara had begged forgiveness and aid in advance of Slade's invasion.

That night, though… And then Nyssa had let her go, tears in her eyes, yes, but _insisted_ she go. Said if she ever loved her, she would go. (As if her love was past tense, as if that love doesn’t burn her apart still, the gnawing hunger for her.)

The Pit had changed them, fundamentally. Nyssa had mourned her and moved on. Had insisted Sara do the same. So Sara had.

Had tried, at least.

Had tried.  
  
***

“Hey, Cap’n.”

That’s still weird, as much as she is trying to embrace the role, to build a life here, protecting the timeline with her band of misfits.

“What’s up, Jax?”

“You, uh, you doin’ ok?”

“I’m fine,” Sara says automatically, throwing on a grin.

“Really? ‘Cause you don’t seem fine.”

When had little Jefferson Jackson gotten so fucking observant? No one else on her team even looks that hard at her.

“Can still kick your ass,” Sara quips, spinning her bo.

Jax grins and puts up his fists. He been training with her since they got the band back together, honing his instincts into skills.

“Well, I know that. But you look exhausted.”

Sara isn’t sleeping well. Recently, she started dreaming of Nyssa again. Struggling to remember everything about her. Sometimes even forgetting the sound of her voice. (She forgot Nyssa once; she’s terrified of how close she is to doing it again.)

“Being captain to you assholes isn’t exactly an easy job,” Sara replies.

That’s true enough. And Darhk weighs on her mind. And losing Laurel still feels like a chasm in her soul. And every time she looks at Mick, she thinks of Snart, the best friend she’s had since, well, dying, and maybe one day he could have been more. A hero’s death, sure, but a death nonetheless.

It’s all weighing on her, and the responsibility of protecting all of history, and the fear of sending people into danger. (Did Nyssa feel that? Why did she never ask?)

And Nyssa.

Three years without her, but everything still comes back to her.

“Jeez, Jax. You know how to flatter a girl,” Sara says instead of all of that. “You need some advice on picking up chicks?”

“Psh,” Jax rolls his eyes. “Just ‘cause you’re in charge doesn’t mean you aren’t human. If you need to talk.”

Sara sighs and drops her bo, leaning on it.

“Thanks, Jax. Really. Just a little insomnia. Maybe Gideon can give me something to help.”

“Yeah,” Jax says, pursing her lips. “Alright.”

“Pummeling you into the mat might help, too.”

Jax laughs. “You can try, Captain. You can try.”  
  
***  
  
She just wants to see her. They swing back through 2016, and Sara just needs to see her. 

To smell her. To taste her, to hear her.

But at least see her.

She lived through a (hallucination-induced) world in which she never met Nyssa, and it was… ostensibly perfect. And so, so empty.

It’s a week or so before Christmas. The Waverider stops in Starling City (Star, actually, thanks to Ray and his stupid ideas). It’s actually just been a few weeks since they were here saving the Earth from freakin’ aliens, but for Sara’s crew it’s been three difficult months. Time travel is trippy that way, which is why people (Barry Freaking Allen) should leave it to the experts. 

Sara’s first stop should be to embrace her father, or hop a train to Central City to see her mother, but instead she stands in the library and says:

“Gideon? Where is she?”  
  
***  
  
She certainly wasn’t expecting that she’d be staying in Star City after all. Nyssa can go anywhere in the world, anywhere at all, and instead she’s here in Star City? It boggles Sara’s mind.

And breaks her heart.

It’s snowing here in Star City, rare this early in the season but not unheard of. The streets are sparkling with lights and decked with garlands and giant ribbons. It’s cold, of course, but Sara doesn’t let it deter her from following her quarry. It does cause her to pull her beanie a little further down, though, and wonders if Nyssa has caught onto her yet. Sara is a great tail, but she’s tailing the master.

Nyssa is… Christmas shopping? As far as Sara can tell at least. Her gorgeous wool coat, deep red, is buttoned high, parting only for the silk scarf wrapped around her neck. Her head is uncovered, snowflakes falling on her dark hair, sticking. 

Sara’s heart is in her throat; she tries not to choke on it. 

Nyssa is _so beautiful_. She has always been so beautiful but now? After years of only seeing her in dreams, the real thing, even from thirty paces away, is overwhelming. Just looking at her, Sara suddenly remembers her scent, feels like it punches her in the chest, and she aches to get close enough to confirm her memory. 

But Sara also feels unworthy of approaching her. She left Nyssa in that cell. She’s stayed away for what has been a year for Nyssa. Nyssa has created something new for herself, and Sara doesn’t want to intrude on that.

Except Nyssa has, by all appearances, created that something new right here in Star City. Which must mean something, right?

Sara doesn’t have time to answer her own question, because she turns the corner onto a smaller side street and bumps straight into Nyssa. The brief contact is electric, and Sara jumps away. She wasn’t ready, not like this. 

“You’ve gotten lax, habibti.”

The last word, the endearment, it floors her. Her gut drops out, and she wants to cry, and she throws her arms around Nyssa, who returns the embrace with only a moment’s hesitation, the paper shopping bags rustling against Sara’s leather coat. 

It’s still too much, though, and with one deep inhalation, reveling in everything there, including, she thinks, a hint of hot cocoa, Sara pulls away, takes three steps back, shoves her hands in her coat pockets. Nyssa lets her go, eyes on her, but Sara can only look at her for a few seconds at a time before darting her eyes away.

“Welcome back to the present,” Nyssa says gently. “I saw you on the television a few weeks ago.”

Right. That.

“I suppose gratitude is in order, for saving the world.”

Sara shrugs.

“You coulda handled them.”

Probably. At least as well as she and Ollie could. But Sara couldn’t risk the distraction, couldn’t risk Nyssa.

“I suppose,” Nyssa allows. “Have you been, present, ever since? Your father didn’t mention anything.”

“My-?” Sara can’t deal with that right now. “No, we… It’s been three months since we were last in 2016.”

“I see.” 

Sara steals a glance at Nyssa’s face, but it’s too much to bear.

“How long has it been since we last saw each other?”

“Three years,” Sara says. “At least.”

Nyssa’s silence is deafening, and when Sara brings herself to meet Nyssa’s eyes, she finds them ever so slightly tinged with tears.

“That is the longest we have ever been apart,” Nyssa says, voice tight.

By about two-and-a-half years, not counting deaths, Sara thinks. Instead, she stupidly says:

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Her heart is kicking her brain around. Yeah! Not _I love you_ , not _I spent them all thinking of you_ , not _I had a chance to erase us but I made sure we happened. I will always make sure we happened_.

Just… yeah.

The snowflakes are still falling, sticking to Nyssa’s hair, her cheeks, her eyelashes. Sara feels nauseous.  

“Judging by the terribly sloppy tailing you were doing, I presume you were looking for me?”

“It was not sloppy!”

“You ran into me.”

“‘Cause you’re the best!”

Nyssa chuckles, then grows serious.

“I am sorry about Laurel.”

It’s been so long, and Sara has wrestled with the possibility of saving her every day, but her name still hurts.

“I should have been here,” Nyssa pushes on. “I should have-“

“Me too,” Sara says. She leaves it there. 

Sara is suddenly aware of the people pushing around them, the bustle of the busy shopping street, and she feels exposed. 

“Do you want to see a Time Ship?”  
  
***  
  
Sara always was full of swagger, but it was bluster and indifference before. Now, it is confidence. Assuredness. And it increases the moment they enter what she calls the Waverider.

“So… This is my ship,” Sara gestures, pulling off her toque and shaking off the snow, smoothing the flyaway hairs that have escaped her braids.

“I see.”

Nyssa has understood, intellectually, that Sara is traveling across time. She just never really thought about the logistics of it. She tries not to think of Sara at all.

And she fails every day.

“And this is-“

“Hey, Sara,” a gruff voice rumbles as a bull of a man rounds the corner. “What are you doing back so- Whoa, Captain, didn’t know we had company!” The man waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Nyssa resists the urge to hit him. 

Sara, however, blushes the tiniest bit but looks at the man with affection as she punches him, hard, in the shoulder. 

“Shut up, Mick.”

“I mean you’ve only been off the boat for -“

“Nyssa, this is Mick Rory. Mick, this is Nyssa.”

“Ohhhhh.”

Sara punches him again.

Mick Rory looks Nyssa over, but Sara intervenes, stepping between them.

“Behave. Why are you still here, anyway?”

“You said I couldn’t steal anything,” he says as if that explains everything. 

“Yeah, and that rule still stands.”

“So here I am,” Rory says, spreading his hands. 

Sara rolls her eyes. 

“I’m just going to give Nyssa a tour, ok?”

“Uh huh.”

“Stay out of trouble.”

“That wasn’t the agreement,” Rory protests as Sara pushes past him, surprising Nyssa by taking her hand and pulling her along. The touch sends a jolt up Nyssa’s arm. 

“If you get locked up, I’m leaving you there overnight,” Sara calls over her shoulder.

“I could use a good nap! My captain is a hardass!” 

Sara makes a rude gesture, and the man laughs.

“Boy Scout and Amaya are still here, too. Didn’t want you to have anymore surprises.”

“Have a good night, Mick,” Sara dismisses him as they turn a corner away from him. They make it a few steps and then Sara drops her hand. Nyssa resists the urge to take it up again. “Sorry about him.”

Nyssa waves away her apology.

“Captain?” she asks, intrigued.

“That’s me,” Sara says, with a gesture opening the doors to what, if this is anything like a seagoing vessel, must be the bridge. “Our first captain… it’s a long story. The crew took a vote. Put me in charge. It was slim pickings.”

“Mmm.”

Sara gives her the tour, introduces a computer that takes the form of a human head, regales her with anecdotes, tells her that they’re here on a bit of “shore leave” to let the team decompress. Grins and laughs and shows these hints of being the Sara she knew and loved before. The Sara she thought she’d lost. But there is still a distance, physical and emotional, a difference. 

Nyssa thinks of herself as mentally agile, able to adapt to unexpected situations quickly, but her mind has trouble processing her beloved’s unexpected appearance. 

“Why are you here, Sara?”

Sara stops, mid-anecdote, deer-in-the-headlights.

“I told you. R & R. My crew- “

“Fair enough. Why did you come looking for me?”

Sara swallows and hesitates. 

She is the least sure she's looked since she brought Nyssa into her domain. Into her time ship.

She’s lovely, in the hazy glow of the half-lit bridge, two braids down her back, light in her eyes, and Nyssa does yearn for her. But she sees the changes in her as well, and not just in the beginnings of lines around her eyes and mouth, those two extra years that have brought their ages only one year apart (none, if you don’t count her death, but Nyssa must always count that). Nyssa does not know this Sara, does not understand why this time traveler reappeared in her life, must drag their past back into the present.

“Why, Sara?”

“I…” Tears flood Sara’s eyes, and her voice cracks. “I miss you.”

  
***  
  
It’s harder to admit than Sara would have thought, but once she starts, she can’t stop. 

“I love you. I still love you. And I know you’ve moved on, that the me you loved died, a long time ago, but god, Nyssa, we-“

Nyssa reaches her in two long strides, hand to her hip, to her cheek.

“Is that what you think?” Nyssa asks, and when Sara meets her eyes, there are also tears.  “That I’ve moved on?”

“Y-yes?”

Sara’s brow knits. She feels Nyssa move toward her, feels herself react the way she always has, muscle memory as crisp as ever. She strains forwards to grasp whatever piece of her  she can, thumb grazing her ear, fingers on her shoulder.

They kiss.

Sara can’t tell who initiates it, doesn’t care as their lips come together and her knees honest-to-god-weaken. She leans in, lets Nyssa take her weight, at least for a moment. Lets herself stop thinking and just feel.

Nyssa is real.

Nyssa is here.

Nyssa is hers. 

If only for right now.

Sara’s hand reaches for the nape of Nyssa’s neck, pulls her closer, deeper, parts her lips with a sigh, shudders at the touch of Nyssa’s tongue. She breathes her in, smells her, tastes her, dares to open her eyes and memorize the gentle way Nyssa’s lashes lay against her cheek.

The kiss ends, for a moment, and Nyssa whispers:

“How could I move on from this, Beloved?”

Sara closes her eyes, rests her forehead against Nyssa’s, lets her hands leisurely shift to Nyssa’s hips. Relishes the sound of her voice.

“You told me to. You told me to!” Sara pushes, slightly. “How could you ask me to?”

“Sara…”

“I’m so angry!”

“At… me?”

“Yes! And me. Why did you have to be so goddamn noble? _And why did I let you?_ ”

Sara pulls away, though it kills her.

“Why wouldn’t you let me stay?”

“Why would you want to?” Nyssa retorts. “You had a clean slate, over my objection, and I was not going to embroil you in the League again. Certainly not while it was in the hands of your murderer.” 

“You were there. I wanted to be with you.”

“What could I offer you besides more death, habibti? I who lost my birthright twice, first to Oliver Queen, then to Malcolm Merlyn. I could not even protect you when I held my rightful place as Heir.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Sara argues petulantly.

“Sara, you died!”

The force of her cry, the pain in it, nearly doubles Sara over. 

Sara moves towards her, but Nyssa steps away.

“You died. I learned to live alone again. I should have always done so - then you would have been safe. I could not watch you die again because of me. I had to set you free to walk in the light.”

“Nyssa…. I can choose my own destiny. Literally. And I choose you. I chose you! I set us on our course to each other.”

“What?”

“I spent the years 1958 to 1960 in service of the League. _I_ trained Talia. And when I left, I told your father about you. And I asked him to send you to me.”

“ _Why_?”

Nyssa is crying, her heartbroken, quiet crying, and Sara hates making her cry. (Hates that she knows every subtlety of the different ways she cries.) But Sara’s only speaking the truth. 

“Because I need us. I will _always_ need us. You’re everything. And I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you there.”

“There is nothing to forgive, habibti. I asked you to.”

“Of course you did. But I still left you to fight alone. That was my choice.”

“And you are safer for it.”

“Stop that.”

“How, Sara? You were killed to send a message to myself and my father. I sent you on missions you hated, missions that tore at your very soul, missions that you could have been killed on. And _you were_. I kept you chained to me, and it cost you your life.”

“Hey!” Sara moves fast, poking Nyssa hard in the sternum. “That’s not fair. I was there by choice. I came back to you. I will always come back to you.”

“Then where have you been for the last year?” 

Nyssa’s voice echoes across the empty bridge, loud and raw. 

“Three,” Sara says softly. A silence stretches between them as they stare at each other. Finally, Sara speaks, one hand reaching for Nyssa’s, threading their fingers together. “Which is it, Nyssa? Do you want me with you or far away from you?”

“I want you safe!”

“Nothing can promise you that! But statistically, I’ve only died the once, and you weren’t there.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Nyssa scolds, voice softer now.

“I’m not. But I do. All the time. I died, Nyssa. We can’t change that. No one can.”

“Laurel did,” Nyssa counters. “Over my objections. Did she tell you that?”

“Yeah.”

“And then I destroyed the only thing we could have used to bring her back. Did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“And you still want me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are.”

Sara sighs, her thumb brushing the back of Nyssa’s hand. She looks into Nyssa’s eyes, fights the urge to wipe the wetness from the edge of them. 

“I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on anyone. Even if it turned out okay in the end. That’s part of why I’ve been gone for so long. At least from your time period.”

“Why?”

“I had a lot to… process. You did the right thing destroying the Pit. You did the right thing keeping anyone else from going through that.”

Nyssa opens her mouth to protest, and Sara pushes up on her toes to shut her up with a kiss. 

She doesn’t want to talk anymore. There is so much they could say, so much history, theirs and the world’s, between them, and god, Nyssa could tell her to fuck off at any minute, so Sara wants to remember her. Every second she spends with Nyssa makes the awkwardness melt away and that old, comfortable intimacy, the strange breathlessness that somehow feels like home, come flooding back.

Nyssa grabs for her, all signs of protest gone. Their teeth click together in their earnestness, but soon they find the right rhythm. They always do. Sara releases Nyssa’s hand and threads her fingers through her silky hair, keeps her eyes closed and lets her other senses take over. Nyssa’s arms wrap around Sara, and she lets herself fall into that embrace, her feet barely touching the ground. She feels twenty-one again, and yet she can remember almost every moment between then and now. Her thighs hit the console table, and she responds by breaking their kiss long enough to move her mouth to Nyssa’s neck, nipping just a little too hard. Nyssa hisses, and Sara grins widely. Nyssa repays her by slipping a cool hand under her sweater.

God, she hopes Gideon has foresight enough to not be watching. Then again, Gideon can monitor her dreams, so this is nothing she hasn’t seen before. 

Sara sheds her leather jacket, too bulky, keeping them too far apart, and has to pause a few times as Nyssa remembers _exactly_ how she likes to be touched. Then she sets her attention to getting that beautiful coat off Nyssa’s shoulders, even at the cost of dislodging Nyssa’s hand from her breast. 

In the seconds where Sara has pushed Nyssa away just far enough to do away with the coat and scarf, they stop, staring at each other, breath coming hard, far too hard for the light fooling around they’ve done so far. The reality of this moment comes slamming down on them, and Sara can’t look too long into the face of it.

Instead, she buries her face in Nyssa’s hair, breathes and breathes and breathes her in.

“Please,” she whispers, “Tell me this isn’t all another dream.”

Nyssa doesn’t respond, simply pulls her into a kiss and presses her harder against the table.  
  
***  
  
“It’s in Rip’s office, I promise. Just give me one second and I’ll-“ 

Ray slaps his hand over the reader and nearly walks into the closed door to the bridge. He tries again, thinking maybe he was too quick for the Waverider to pick up. The strange situation furrows Ray’s brow, and Amaya is immediately on guard, hand hovering over her amulet. 

“Gideon? Is something wrong with the door?” she asks.

“Nothing is wrong with the door,” Gideon’s disembodied voice replies. “I cannot grant you access to the bridge.”

“Why not?” Ray asks. 

“Captain Lance is currently occupying the bridge.”

“Sara? I thought she went into the city.”

“She has since returned.”

“What is Sara doing on the bridge that we can’t go in?” Amaya asks, suspicious.

There’s a loud bang on the other side of the door.

“Is she in trouble?” Ray asks, ready to leap into action.

“She is not in trouble,” Gideon says, pretty firmly for the AI. 

The next noise out of the bridge is much less ambiguous, and Ray turns pink. 

Amaya rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

Ray sputters a little, but Amaya has already started walking back the way they came. 

“Captain’s prerogative, I guess. Come on. You’ll have to show me later, Ray.”

Ray hurries to catch up with her, throwing one last quizzical look over his shoulder and books it after her.  
  
***  
  
Hours and a half-dressed sprint to Sara’s bunk later, Sara looks down at warm, soft, sated Nyssa beside her and grins what she knows must be an obnoxious grin. 

Nyssa’s eyes are hooded and sleepy, her guard relaxed in a way Sara is sure she is the only one to ever see. Chin on her fist, Sara’s grin softens.

“You alive?”

“It would take more than you to kill me, habibti,” Nyssa says, offended but still sleepy.         Sara laughs and gently tucks her sheets around Nyssa’s naked body to fend off the Waverider’s slight chill. She walks her fingers across Nyssa’s collar bone. Nyssa’s dark eyes open fully. 

“ _I love you,_ ” Nyssa says quietly, in the Arabic she first said it in.

“ _I love you, too_.”

“I know.”

“Do you? When I came to you in Nanda Parbat, you talked about it in the past tense.”

Nyssa sits up, the sheet falling away.

“I’ve never doubted your love, Sara. Just whether it was enough to make you stay.”

Sara takes a deep breath.

Sting though it might, she deserves that. She sits up straight and tries to explain.

“I thought I could find myself out there, in… time. I tamed the bloodlust. I worked as a part of this team. I tried to make the most of my clean slate. And then, Laurel. I lost Laurel. As tempting as it is, I can’t change that.” Sara presses a palm to Nyssa’s cheek. Nyssa leans into it, as she always has at that gesture. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Habibti…”

“I tried to move on. I really did. I was as selfish as you told me to be. Nothing ever felt right. How can I start over when you’re still here? Why should I start over without you? You deserve a clean slate, too. You deserve to walk in the light.”

“What are you saying?”

“Come with me. With us. Unless…” Sara suddenly feels very vulnerable, and not from her state of undress. “Unless, there’s a reason for you not to. A… someone.”

Nyssa’s brow furrows.

“Someone? No.”

Sara feels guilty at the relief that floods her: she hasn’t exactly been pining for Nyssa in a celibate kind of way, but the thought of someone new, _someone serious_ , being in Nyssa’s life made her sick.

“You want me to… come with you?”

“Yes! You’re better qualified than _at least_ half my crew. You’ll catch on to the time travel stuff quick enough. There’s mostly a lot of punching people, which I know you enjoy.”

Nyssa chuckles softly, shaking her hair back behind her shoulder. She surveys Sara’s spartan bunk seriously, obviously thinking. Sara hates that she is hurt by the careful consideration. Why should Nyssa want to run away with her when she’d left her behind for so long?

“Why now? Did you come here to ask me to come with you?”

“No,” Sara answers honestly. “I just wanted to see you. I couldn’t stand to stay away any longer.”

“And why did you stay away so long?”

Sara pauses, wills herself to say something that feels _so dumb_ now that she’s at Nyssa’s side again. Doubting Nyssa’s love for her is an insult, a dishonor to the most loyal person she’s ever met.

“I thought you were done with me,” Sara finally says. “At Nanda Parbat, it felt… I died. I might never be the person I was before. And I thought maybe you only loved the old Sara.”

“I loved the mindless monster that Laurel stole away to Star City with, Sara. I have loved and will love every version of you there is. You aren’t the girl I pulled out of the sea, and I am not the girl who rescued you. But that would never change how I feel about you. I just wanted you to be-“

“Free. I know. Which I was, with you.”

“No one was ever free under the reign of my father,” Nyssa says swiftly, finally.

“But you made me feel free,” Sara promises, hands on Nyssa’s arm, cheek, making her look at her, their bare hips pressed together. “Even when things were hard. I felt free enough _to run away from the League_. Because I knew you would never hurt me.”

“I almost did.”

“You never would,” Sara repeats firmly. “I want you here. I want to be with you. I want to show you what I’ve built here. I want you to be a part of it. _I’m sorry_ it took so long. The lost time is… I can’t get our past back, just like I can’t get Laurel back. But I want us to give our future a chance, Nyssa. I want to be us again. Whatever we’ve been, we’ve always been _something_.”

Nyssa leans over and kisses her, softly, chastely. She knocks her forehead against Sara’s gently.

“Very well.”

Sara lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

“Very well?” she teases. 

“ _Very well_ ,” Nyssa repeats. “I will accompany you on your adventures through time which I still do not fully understand.”

Sara laughs and does, truly, feel _free_.  
  
***  
  
Sara had to go see her parents. 

(Had to have an awkward moment where her dad asked if she had seen Nyssa yet in a protective way. Protective _of Nyssa._ ) 

So she gave Nyssa the same luxury Rip gave them: time to put her affairs in order. Gave her forty-eight hours and a meeting location. Then she visited her dad, had dinner with her mom, and tried her best to be _present_ , her parents deserved that. Her mind, her heart, wasn’t fully in it, though. Next time, she promised herself. Next time, she’d give them the visit they deserve.

Sara didn't run the whole “new crew member” thing past the rest of them yet. She’s the captain: she can make crew personnel decisions. But mostly, she doesn’t want to have to deal with them if Nyssa _doesn’t_ show. 

She’s pretty convinced that’s a possibility. She’s equally convinced their whole reunion was another alien hallucination. So waiting here, at the foot of the Waverider’s gangplank, parked thirty minutes outside of the city, jacket pulled tight against the December chill, staring up at the few stars not blocked out by Star City’s light pollution, she’s _pretty fucking nervous._

(She also has the far off thought that she’d love to show Nyssa the sky before electricity, wants a second opinion on whether it really is even more impressive that the blanket of stars they used to gaze at on long nights in Nanda Parbat.) 

 

Different crew members have come to ask if they’re ready to go, with various levels of civility, but Sara has waived them off and continued to wait for headlights. 

There are still fifteen minutes until the time Sara gave Nyssa, but fifteen minutes before a meeting time is practically _late_ for a League assassin. Former, League assassin.

Sara would understand, intellectually, why Nyssa wouldn’t come. Sara’s been… occasionally inconsistent. And it’s one thing to agree to try again at whatever they are when they’re all post-coital and glowy, together and safe for the first time in years. The reality of what Sara is asking is heavy, though; Nyssa’s endured a lot (much of which Sara is realizing she doesn’t even really know) in the last two years, and she deserves peace, if she wants it. 

Sara checks her phone. Surely Nyssa will send a text if she isn’t-

She hears the engine before she sees the lights, and her stomach flips. Nyssa stills makes her feel like a schoolgirl (or new recruit, as it were) with a crush. The car pulls up, and Sara realizes she sorta screwed the logistics of this one. What are they gonna do with that-

Sara stops thinking so much as Nyssa turns off the engine and steps out, grabbing a duffle bag out of the backseat. Her feet take her towards the car at a pace that can certainly not be described as _cool_. But she doesn’t care. 

She throws her arms around Nyssa, maybe a little too forcefully. Nyssa catches her easily, though.

“I apologize for being late. I went to bring holiday gifts to Felicity and Thea, and Felicity is… difficult to conclude a conversation with.”

Sara laughs against Nyssa’s shoulder. 

“That she is.”

“You did not think I was coming,” Nyssa says knowingly, kissing the top of Sara’s head in a way she would totally _hate_ if anyone else did it.

“In my defense, I think a lot of stupid things. Like all the time.”

It’s Nyssa’s turn to laugh as Sara pulls away and, after a brief stare off, insists on carrying her bag for her. 

“That bodes well for your leadership as my captain,” Nyssa teases.

“Good thing you’ve got a lot of practice doing what I tell you.”

Nyssa rolls her eyes, and Sara grins, suddenly feeling so very light. Nyssa turns serious for a moment, and she briefly touches a gloved hand to Sara’s face, making sure she has her attention. 

“I would follow you anywhere. All you have ever had to do was ask.”

Sara tries not to feel the weight of what could have been, tries to focus on the what could be spreading before them. 

“I’m glad I asked, then,” she says. She threads her free arm through Nyssa’s and pulls her up the ramp, towards the future (and the past). “Nyssa al Ghul, welcome aboard the Waverider.”  
  
el fin

**Author's Note:**

> For now this is going to stand alone, but it is the set up to the "Nyssa on the waverider" fic I've been threatening to write for a while. (Follows canon until after the crossover.)


End file.
